


Watson and Jones

by roryteller



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryteller/pseuds/roryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Year that Never Was. Martha Jones washes up in New York after a shipwreck. Injured, she is taken to a temporary clinic run by Joan Watson, since the hospital where she worked was trashed in the Toclafane attack. Joan gives her a place to stay for the night and helps her find the local Resistance. Meanwhile, they bond. There may be a sequel or second chapter... eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watson and Jones

Martha coughed, her lungs burning as a salty taste filled her mouth. She opened her eyes. The sky was blue, and she could hear the sound of seagulls. Something hard and metallic was in her hand. She tried to sit up, but collapsed back onto the ground, all the blood rushing to her head. _Ouch_.

“You okay?” She didn't know the voice, but its owner, a teenage boy who reminded her of her brother a few years back, but darker-skinned and gawkier, leaned over her. His was the first human face she'd seen in weeks, and she suddenly wanted to cry for her family, trapped on the Master's ship.

She shook her head and managed to squeak out a “No.”

“Don't worry. I'll get the doctor,” he said, before giving her a little pat on the arm. He walked off, and she watched as he disappeared behind the wreckage of a car on a nearby road.

_The doctor? I must be dreaming_. She sat up, slowly this time, brushed sand out of her hair as best she could, looked around. She could see buildings in the distance, road signs in English. The guy had sounded American. _I made it._ The object in her hand was the TARDIS key. She put it back around her neck.

She was trying, unsuccessfully, to stand when the young man came back, this time followed by an Asian woman in blue scrubs with long black black hair and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks, perhaps in her late thirties.

“Hi,” said the woman. “I'm Doctor Joan Watson and this is Jeff Greene. Can you stand?”

Martha shook her head. Doctor Watson crouched down next to her instead.

“What happened?”

Martha coughed. “My boat, it.. sunk, I think. I swam... somehow I ended up here. I don't really remember.”

“That's okay. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“I think I swallowed some water. And my legs hurt.” Her jeans were ripped, and she grimaced as she pulled the fabric away from her skin.

“Looks like you got pretty scraped up there,” said Doctor Watson, inspecting a small wound on Martha's left calf. “You're going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.”

“That's for sure.” said Martha. “Can you help me up?”

“Sure.”

Doctor Watson and Jeff helped Martha up, and put her arms over their shoulders, helping her limp toward the street.

“We've got a little clinic not far from here,” said the doctor. “It's not much, but it's the best we can do since the aliens wrecked the hospital.”

“Thanks. I'm Martha Jones. Where am I?”

“New York. Why?”

“I was afraid I had gotten lost.”

They arrived in front of a large brick building and entered at the ground level. A couple steps down and they were in a dimly lit room, a former storefront that had been transformed into a clinic. Several people were waiting in chairs near the entrance while another woman in scrubs put a sling on a teenage boy's arm. She could hear coughs and sniffles in the background.

“The Toclafane cut the power. Rolling blackouts.” explained Doctor Watson. “Apparently they need it for their shipyards.”

Martha gulped. “Shipyards?”

“They've been putting them up everywhere. Re-purposing factories, drafting huge numbers of workers... where have you been?” Doctor Watson sat Martha down on a paper-covered table. “Pull up your pants so I can get a better look.”

“Sailing. It's a long story.” Martha obliged, and Doctor Watson quickly cleaned and bandaged the wounds.

“I can see that. Does it hurt anywhere else?” Doctor Watson was attaching a blood pressure cuff. “Still woozy?”

Martha shook her head. “I am a bit hungry though. And thirsty”

“Good. Stick around, I'm off in an hour, we can grab something to eat and you can tell me your story. In the mean time...” she looked around and motioned Jeff, who'd been hovering nearby. “Jeff, do you think you can get Ms Jones here some water?”

“Sure, doc.”

“Thanks.” Martha hopped off the table. “I can help out. I was a medical resident before this all started.”

Jeff returned with a plastic cup. Martha gulped it down. It seemed like the best water she had ever tasted.

“We could use the help, but don't push yourself too hard. Jeff will show you where you can clean up, and change out of those clothes while you're at it.”

After a quick (cold) shower, Martha helped out for the next hour, wearing a faded floral-print set of scrubs two sizes too large. She lost track of time, and was startled to find Doctor Watson waiting for her.

“Nice outfit.”

“Thanks, Doctor. You're looking lovely yourself.”

“Call me Joan.” Joan motioned for Martha to follow her. Joan had changed into jeans and a loose gray tunic with a white sweater, and really did look lovely.

Martha grabbed her clothes, still somewhat damp, and followed. “You can call me Martha then.”

Martha followed Joan out the door and around the corner. It was dusk, but the streetlights were still out. They entered a white building and climbed three flights of stairs. Joan lived in an impeccably neat, but smallish apartment with a fine view of the neighboring wall. Still, it was well kept-up and tastefully decorated.

“Nice,” said Martha.

Joan fiddled with the lightswitch. “The power should come back on any time now. Usually they only turn it out for an hour or two at a time.” She walked into the kitchen, followed closely by Martha. “Is a sandwich fine?”

“Sure. Can I help?”

“No, you're my guest. Pull up a chair and tell me your story.”

Martha explained how she'd sailed across the ocean, omitting certain details about who had helped her. Joan seemed like a good person, but in a world controlled by the Master and his satellites, she couldn't be sure.

Joan set a tuna sandwich in front of Martha. “Wow. I'd have trouble believing you, but after the last few weeks anything seems possible.”

“Thanks.” said Martha, and dug in.

“You know, a few years ago I wouldn't have believed aliens were real. But I can't deny it anymore.”

“Me neither, I guess. But that seems like a very long time ago. I was in the hospital that disappeared out of London a while back, you know.”

“The hospital that- oh. Did you really go to the moon?”

“Yes. And that's how I met the Doctor.”

Between bites of sandwich, Martha told Joan about the Doctor. How he'd caught the plasmavore and brought the hospital back from the moon. How he'd taken her on adventures, shown her the past and future and things she'd never dreamed of. How he'd defended the world, so many times. How she loved him.

Joan drank it all in. When Martha was done, she cleared her throat. “Wow.” she said.

“Wow is right.”

“So you're here to do... what? Save the world? Stop the Master?”

Martha couldn't read Joan's expression in the fading light, but she thought she detected a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“Yep. Martha Jones, superhero.” She made a muscle.

“Well, if you're telling the truth, it's not the first time you've saved the world, so what's once more?”

“Thanks for putting it in perspective. So you don't believe me?”

“I don't know what to believe. I want to, though.”

The lights flicked back on, and there was an awkward moment as Joan, who had been looking Martha in the eyes, started back, surprised. She checked her watch and Martha finished the last bite of her sandwich. Joan cleared her throat.

“We should have a couple hours of light before they cut us off for the night. What do you want to do? What do you need?”

Martha wasn't sure if it was fatigue, intuition, or that fact that Joan was gorgeous, but something made her decide to trust Joan.

“I need to get in contact with the resistance, if there is one. And I need a place to stay. And clean clothes that aren't scrubs.”

“Well, you can stay here for a night or two, if you want. And there's laundry in the building, or we can see if anything of mine fits you. As for the resistance... there is one, but that's a bit harder.” She collected the dishes and started washing them. “Hmm. I think Jeff might know someone who knows someone.”

“That kid?”

“That kid is one of the best-connected people I know. If we survive this, he's got a bright future.”

“Sorry, he just reminds me of my brother.”

“I see. Did he survive the invasion?”

“I don't know... the Master didn't take him, but I haven't seen him since.”

“Oh,” Joan drew Martha into a hug. “I know how that is. Two of my cousins vanished as well.”

Martha accepted the hug, a bit stiffly at first, then pushed Joan away after a moment. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. I know where Jeff lives, shall we go?”

“Okay, but I think I had better change first.”

A few minutes later they were off, Martha in Joan's skirt, blouse and sweater, with her own shoes. It reminded her of preteen sleepovers, but above all it was nice to wear normal clothes again. Joan had raised an eyebrow at the key but she hadn't bothered explaining.

Jeff lived with his family only a couple of streets over. His building, made of faded red brick, bore scars, probably from the attacks a few weeks earlier – slashes in the walls, a damaged fire escape. Joan rang the bell for apartment number 5, said a few words into the intercom, and soon Jeff had joined them. He lead them down the street a few blocks and took a couple turns. About ten minutes later, just as Martha's legs started seriously throbbing, they turned down an alleyway. Jeff jumped up and grabbed the fire escape ladder and they all climbed up. It creaked under their weight, and Martha could see spots of rust, but it held firm up to the fourth floor, where Jeff knocked on a window. The curtain moved a little, and Martha could dimly see a face looking out at them. The window opened and they climbed into a darkened kitchen.

The man who had let them in led them from the kitchen to the living room. Martha blinked and looked around. The man was young, perhaps twenty-five or thirty, his hair still black and his tanned skin unwrinkled, but the décor was dated, country-style, with red gingham and brightly painted wooden roosters. The carpet was faded and stained. Pictures of the young man arm in arm with a white man at least ten years older, in some surrounded by family, spoke to a warmth underneath it all.

Jeff introduced them. The man was George Ramos, formerly of the New York Times and major ham radio geek. His skills and range of contacts had lead him to become a sort of hub in the New York branch of the Resistance. He held out his hand.

“Martha Jones, it's so nice to finally meet you.”

“You knew she was coming?” asked Joan. “Then... her story was true?”

“Yes. And yes, as far as we know.”

“Sorry I doubted you.”

“It's okay,” said Martha. “I get that a lot.”

“So,” George motioned for them to sit down. Each of them took a place on the couch while he pulled up a kitchen chair. “You need to get out of the city. What else?”

Martha rattled off a list: clothing, a map, food, water, a flashlight, first aid kit, pocket knife.

“No weapons?”

Martha shook her head. “No weapons. They won't help against the Toclafane anyway.”

“True. And when do you plan to leave?”

“Not before tomorrow. Perhaps the next day. I need to recover from my injuries.” _And tell my stories,_ she thought, but they didn't need to know that.

“The day after tomorrow, I can do that.” He turned to Joan. “Doctor Watson, are you willing to house Ms Jones until then? Knowing that she's a wanted woman?”

A pause, a deep breath. “Yes.” said Joan. “I'll do what it takes.”

Martha gave her a grateful smile, and Joan smiled back.

“My partner will be driving you out of town,” said George. “Jeff will take you to meet him two days from now. Does that take care of it?”

“Yes, thank you.” said Martha.

“Now, you should get back before lights out.” he said. They left the way they came, split ways with Jeff partway back, and headed to Joan's place.

Joan wanted to hear more stories, so Martha started on the one about how the Doctor had saved the people of New New York from being trapped underground, but Joan stopped her.

“I want to hear about you,” she said.

And so Martha told her about her family – her brother and her sister, and her parents, and how they fought but she loved them anyway and how she was worried sick about them, her sister and parents trapped by the Master, her brother missing, hopefully in hiding. She traded stories of med school with Joan and told her about wanting to fix her friend's cat when it got sick and how she'd considered being a veterinarian instead. She told Joan what it felt like to step out onto a new world (“the sense of joy and anticipation, there's nothing like it”). She told her she had mixed feelings about traveling with the Doctor.

“It sounds wonderful though.”

“It is, and terrible, and terrifying. But sometimes the worst is just... not being seen, you know. And it's not just him, it's... so many places we go, it's like I'm an accessory, you know, or invisible. I've even been his servant. Back home I'm training to be a doctor, I have my family, to them and to the patients and to my friends I'm somebody. It hurts.”

Joan touched her hand, held it.

“You're somebody to me.”

“Thanks.” Martha hesitated, then – what did she have to lose – leaned against Joan.

While they were sitting like that, the lights went out. Martha started up and banged her head against Joan's chin.

“Ow ow ow ow ow.”

“Watch where you're going!” said Joan and they both laughed, but the moment was over and they both went to bed.

The next day, Martha was feeling a bit better, but her legs were a bit swollen. She helped out at the clinic again and had lunch with Joan and the nurse, a very pale brown-haired Boston transplant by the name of Kelly McTavish. All day, she told anyone that would listen about the Doctor, and after work she got Jeff to guide her to places where she could tell more. Finally, exhausted, she reached Joan's place about an hour before lights out. She collapsed in a kitchen chair. Joan, who had been reading in bed, came over and sat next to her.

“So you're leaving tomorrow.”

“I am.”

“Somehow it seems like it's been more than two days.”

Martha shrugged. “Time is strange.”

“You should know.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“No, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving us hope. You know I'm going to miss you, right?”

Martha shook her head. “I didn't know. But you're welcome.”

“And we can't stay in touch, can we? With communications cut?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well then,” said Joan, “we'd better make the most of the time we have.”

She leaned in, slowly, a bit hesitant. Martha caught her breath, and leaned in to meet her kiss. It was long and slow and she put a hand in Joan's hair and pulled her close. When they pulled apart, Martha almost fell out of her chair.

“Whoa!” said Joan, catching her arm. “Be careful!”

“That was nice.” said Martha. She pulled Joan back in for another kiss, and another. Joan pulled her by the hand across to the couch. Joan kissed her neck. Martha shivered, pushed her against the sofa, kissed her again, urgently this time.

But when Joan started to unbutton Martha's shirt, Martha stopped her.

“What's wrong?”

“I haven't slept with a woman before,” said Martha. She wanted it, she definitely wanted it, but she was scared.

“Oh.” Joan pulled back, put her hair back in place, folded her hands in her lap. “Would you rather talk?”

Martha nodded, straightened up, smoothed her shirt, redid the first button. “Have you been with a woman before?”

Joan nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you a lesbian?”

Joan shook her head. “More like bi. Are you?”

“I don't think so.” Martha took a deep breath. “I thought it was a phase or something, when I started liking the guys in school.” _Even though there was that one girl I almost kissed_. “Does it get easier?”

“Martha... you're a smart woman. I won't lie to you. It doesn't always get easier. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it's wonderful,” and her smile lit up with happy memories, “and sometimes it's terrible. You have to keep fighting, you have to be lucky, but even then it doesn't always work out. You figure yourself out, a little, you fight to accept yourself... but life is still hard and it's not always easy.”

“Are you out?”

“Sometimes. To some people. It's complicated, and not everyone needs to know.”

Martha sighed. “Sometimes I'd rather deal with homicidal aliens than human drama.”

Joan laughed. “Personally, I like it when my life's not on the line, but that's just me. So, are you feeling up to anything, or do you want to call it quits? No hard feelings either way, just to be clear.”

“We can... cuddle, I guess? And maybe kiss, kissing is nice.”

And so they cuddled and talked for hours, even after the lights went out, and only reluctantly went to bed.

In the morning they were both up at dawn, Joan rushing to get ready for work, Martha getting ready for her trip. They shared one last kiss just before leaving. Its sweetness made Martha want to stay with this woman who saw her, but even the thought still scared her a little. And she had a world to save. She turned away.

“Will I see you again?” asked Joan.

“I can't promise anything,” said Martha. “But I'll try to find you.” She started to leave, then turned back. “George will probably have news of me, at least for a while. You can ask him. Thanks again.”

“Thank you,” said Joan. “and take care of yourself.”

“I will.” said Martha. “You too.”

With that, she stepped out into the dark of the staircase and down, out into the morning air, out to where her journey would take her. Out to the rest of the world.


End file.
